


Lonely Hearts Club

by PeopleCoveredInFish



Series: How to be a Heartbreaker [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3168440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeopleCoveredInFish/pseuds/PeopleCoveredInFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you want to be with somebody like me?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely Hearts Club

Truthfully, it's an easy bet. Turn Kiyoshi's head, then his heart; turn that massive body to the raptures of the flesh, twist his mind into fashioning declarations of love and devotion.

Break him.

Not clean, not even, but thick with betrayal and the decay of something left out after its time. Seems like a bit of fun, but Hara doesn't think it'll work—the sound of popping bubbles like air rifles against his reasons why—and Furuhashi agrees with him. If he were a different kind of captain, he'd call it insubordination, but he  _had_ hogged the controls the last time they played Dragon Age, so he plays fair and bets on it instead.

He comes to Kiyoshi after the Winter Cup, after tracking his movement across the court and his deft handling of the ball, after not spending an extra moment thinking about what else those hands might be good for. Seirin's locker room is almost empty when he slips in, hoping his hoodie might obscure his presence for as long as possible.

Of course, their coach is on him as soon as he gets through the door. "You're not welcome here. Get out."

"It's all right, Riko," comes the voice of his interceding angel, "I'm sure he's just here to talk."

Kiyoshi Teppei is in casual clothes, leaning against the nearest locker in a position that looks unstudied but is clearly meant to take some weight off his knee. "I'm just here to talk," Hanamiya repeats, hands spread in the universal gesture for truce.

"Teppei, this is ridiculous," Riko protests, but Kiyoshi shakes his head.

"I'll hear you out, Hanamiya. Can everyone please give us some privacy?"

There's the clatter of the remaining team members gathering their bags and leaving the room. Riko gives Kiyoshi one last, worried look, but he smiles into the space between them and then she, too, walks out.

Kiyoshi shifts against the locker. "So, what do you have to say?"

His voice is even, placid, very nearly unaffected by Hanamiya's presence save for the crystal of inflection at the end, which betrays an edge of interest, unwanted though it may be.

Hanamiya hooks onto it and tries to draw it out. "I've been thinking about you," he says, careful to look at his feet and scuff the toe of his shoe against the floor as if in embarrassment.

And he watches, looking up through his lashes, as Kiyoshi's face changes, just a little, to be shadowed with something like wonder.

"Kiyoshi Teppei," he says, still focused on the floor—he can feel the blood rising in his cheeks, good—"I'm here to confess my feelings."

He's waiting for laughter, for scoffing, because surely even Kiyoshi couldn't be this much of a soft touch, when he feels the light pressure of a hand on his. "Ah," says Kiyoshi, "finally done pulling my pigtails, then?"

Hanamiya freezes. Kiyoshi's smile widens. "I'd be an idiot not to have noticed, Hanamiya."

The indignation of it grabs him by the throat, and he twitches somewhat helplessly until he forces himself back into stillness. "You  _are_ an idiot," he mutters, unable to restrain himself, and Kiyoshi chuckles.

"I'm afraid I cannot return your feelings," he says then, and damn him, he looks genuinely sorry.

Hanamiya hangs his head to hide a smile; of course he'd been expecting this. Time to retreat and put phase two of his plan into action. But as he's turning to leave, Kiyoshi calls out to him, catches him by the wrist again.

"Are you going to be all right?"

It's a ridiculous question, and Hanamiya snorts. "Obviously."

He snatches his hand back and continues to walk towards the locker room door.

"I can help you feel better," Kiyoshi says.

Hanamiya almost trips. "What."

Kiyoshi's in front of him, Hanamiya hadn't even noticed him moving, he's cupping Hanamiya's face with one hand and brushing back his hood with the other, sweeping his fingers through his hair. Hanamiya's about to stutter out a more forceful declaration of surprise when Kiyoshi kisses him.

Their lips slant into gentleness and soft reciprocity; without thinking, Hanamiya winds his arms around Kiyoshi's neck. "Thought you said you couldn't return my feelings."

"That," Kiyoshi says, practically speaking into his mouth, "doesn't mean I don't want to."

Hanamiya's mind whirrs with an overflow of on-site adjustments to his plan, but Kiyoshi's a forceful distraction and Hanamiya starts to lose count somewhere between Kiyoshi's kisses and the hand that's somehow insinuated itself onto his ass. What's important is getting Kiyoshi out of his t-shirt and on top of Hanamiya as quickly and efficiently as possible.

For research purposes, of course.

Before he can register it's happening, he's being picked up, his legs around Kiyoshi's waist, and carried into the bathroom. Kiyoshi places him gently on the counter next to the sink and begins to unzip his hoodie. Hanamiya slaps his hand over Kiyoshi's and shrugs off his hoodie, then reaches over to pull Kiyoshi's shirt up over his head, touching every muscle of his chest and arms that he can reach.

The kisses that unwind between them roll forward into something just this side of frantic; Kiyoshi presses his mouth to Hanamiya's neck, collarbones, and forehead. Hanamiya's shirt is consigned to the floor along with his jeans (too tight, an addendum to his mission of seduction), and then Kiyoshi is stroking him through his underwear. Hanamiya tries to breathe against the delicious immediacy of Kiyoshi's entire hand enveloping him; the intimacy of it sparking up his spine.

Watching Kiyoshi sink to his knees with a wince is nearly enough to finish Hanamiya right there, it's only curiosity that keeps him hanging on for more. Kiyoshi unzips his own trousers and pulls himself out, and though Hanamiya will deny it later, his mouth drops open a bit at the sheer size of him. He helps Hanamiya out of his boxer shorts with an unhurried gentleness that stands in solid contrast to Hanamiya's own sharp edge of harried desire. He looks Hanamiya right in the eye, and swallows him down without warning.

Hanamiya lets out a tiny yelp, and nearly kicks Kiyoshi, who's giggling as though this is all some sort of game (and it is, Hanamiya reminds himself, his entire world compressed into the space between Kiyoshi Teppei's lips). He grabs a handful of Kiyoshi's hair none too gently and tugs, anchoring himself to the counter and the bathroom and Kiyoshi's mouth, tracing the thread of pleasure up through his system, and he's just about ready to let go when he feels a sudden, unwelcome restraint.

Kiyoshi Teppei is grabbing his fucking balls.

"What the hell is  _wrong_  with you," Hanamiya grunts, aiming a kick at Kiyoshi's head.

Kiyoshi ducks, which necessarily frees up his mouth. "Right of postponement," he explains with a shrug, and the asshole has the gall to grin about it.

He staves off Hanamiya's inevitable tirade by dropping back between his legs and licking into him. Hanamiya feels as though his lungs have been punctured; the whine he lets out feels like the last gasp of air he'll ever emit. He struggles for purchase, throwing his legs over Kiyoshi's shoulders, dropping both hands in his hair and  _pulling_. Kiyoshi's tongue sends heat spiraling through him, and he grinds back against the sensation.

Kiyoshi pulls away. "You're so cute like this."

Spitting with frustration and rage, Hanamiya shoves the guy's head back into his crotch, not missing Kiyoshi's huff of laughter. "Shut up and eat my ass."

Kiyoshi just hums and adds a couple fingers to the mess he's making out of Hanamiya, content to continue dragging a litany of embarrassing noises from him. Hanamiya is rocking against Kiyoshi's mouth now, climbing the wave rushing through his body, and when Kiyoshi begins to stroke him again with his other hand, Hanamiya comes with a shout, legs twitching against Kiyoshi's neck.

Spent, he flops back against the mirror, one hand resting in the sink. Kiyoshi, still hard, applies the lightest of kisses to his inner thighs, and it’s this, beyond anything else they’ve done today, that makes the heat rise in Hanamiya’s cheeks, in sincerity this time. “You’re a piece of work, Hanamaiya,” says Kiyoshi, and if that’s not a note of fondness under the admonition in his voice, Hanamiya is very much mistaken.

Having caught his breath, he slips off the counter and, against his better judgement, offers a hand to Kioyshi, still on the floor. Kiyoshi hesitates for a fraction of a second, but takes it, and that’s the last time Hanamiya’s hauling his heavy ass anywhere, because  _damn_.

Hanamiya moves to reciprocate Kiyoshi’s attentions, but Kiyoshi steps back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

And he remembers his confession, his supposed feelings; Kiyoshi must be trying to protect him. As though another hand job would make any difference.  _Idiot_.

But he sticks to his own plan—the remnants of it, anyway—and says, “right.”

When he’s fully clothed, Kiyoshi drops a single kiss on his cheek. “Take care.” 

“You, too.”

Hanamiya leaves the locker room thinking about how good they must have looked together, his limbs curved around Kiyoshi, black hair silhouetted against brown, their lips pressed together in twinned desire. It doesn’t occur to him until he’s on the train headed home that none of this has ever been part of the plan. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Hanamiya!


End file.
